


i hear your ship is comin' in

by cierics



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Cad Has A Breakdown Subgenre, Existential Crisis, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, clerics can feel little a negative emotions. as a treat., learning to lean on your friends, rated T for A Swear, vague spoilers up to episode 104
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cierics/pseuds/cierics
Summary: “Are you alright?” he asks, trying for gentle instead of relieved. She didn’tactuallywant to talk about him, Caduceus realises, she’s just couching her own feelings in something else. It takes a weight off his shoulders, and simultaneously ties one around his ankles.At sea once more, Beau takes a moment to check up on Caduceus. Or, rather, she tries to.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 28
Kudos: 146





	i hear your ship is comin' in

**Author's Note:**

> partially inspired by a conversation i had with an irl friend, in regards to feeling lost and directionless in life. when you can’t afford therapy project onto ur favourite characters amirite. title is from anchor by novo amor, which is only sort of relevant but i listened to it a bunch while writing. enjoy the pain!

Ripples of lurid blue dance just beneath the water, playing off the ship’s freshly-painted hull in cascading waves of light. Patterns form and shift, disappearing only to coalesce again. They don’t make any sense, but Caduceus can’t help but watch for some hidden sign in their depths; searching for a language where there is none to be found. Occasionally, a bright burst will appear, forming something like a shape or a face - only to disperse into tiny pinpricks again, fading back into the black depths.

The air is still, here, where their new ship is anchored a mile or so out from Rumblecusp’s white shoreline. The muggy weight of the day has been replaced by the cool press of night, which he supposes is a small mercy. But the lack of any kind of breeze feels… strange. Wrong. His hair hangs in front of his face where he’s leaning over the side of the ship, blowing neither forward nor backward. Staring down into the glittering, indecipherable sea, it lends no answer to the questions on his tongue.

He suddenly feels very alone.

The shifting of boot-soles across the deck behind him brings a wave of comfort that’s embarrassing in its intensity. Taking a slow breath, Caduceus listens, and discovers that there are two sets of feet making their way in a drifting pattern towards him. Low voices accompany their footsteps. They’re clearly trying to be quiet, and despite his suspicion that this might be some kind of prank waiting to happen, he keeps his ears forward. Better to let them think they’re unheard.

“—ink there’s something wrong, y’know? Like, it would just be good to ask, at least.” Beau’s voice, an almost-whisper, making it even rougher than usual.

“I mean, I don’t think I have anything to… you’re better at this than I am.” Fjord’s voice, now, sounding… reluctant? _Nervous_. Caduceus frowns down at the ocean, trying to parse the words, feeling them over. He’s not sure what could be making Fjord so nervous on the ocean, apart from… the obvious.

The ocean stares back up at him.

“Yeah, but he’d take it better from you,” comes Beau’s reply, insistent.

_Ah._ They’re talking about _him._ Caduceus wonders why. Was it something he said to the villagers in Vo? Something he _didn’t_ say?

Regardless, it’s sort of rude to talk about someone _literally_ behind their back, so he lets one ear flick back in their direction. Just a hint.

One set of footsteps - the heavier tread - immediately stops. 

“I just remembered,” says Fjord, loud and sudden, and Caduceus nearly snorts with laughter. “I should… go and… check the… rudder? That’s something you do on a ship.” His voice has that panicky-high quality to it that’s woefully familiar, and it should funny, and it _is,_ but the excuses set a leaden weight in Caduceus’ chest. If Fjord wants to talk to him about something, why can’t he just say it? Is Caduceus being too vague? Is he not approachable enough? Not straightforward enough? He makes a mental note to ask about it tomorrow, maybe. Possibly.

_…Probably not._

The sound of Fjord’s retreating steps is mixed with an irritated splutter from Beau. _“Fjord,”_ she hisses, stopping in her tracks too and huffing a sigh. 

Oh, well. It’s for the best, really, that they don’t have whatever talk _that_ was going to be with him tonight. Caduceus doesn’t think he’d be particularly good at conversation right now, if they prodded at him. He might even be a little sharp, and the thought of accidentally making either of them feel bad in a moment of his own selfish weakness is already boring a black hole in his stomach.

It’s like a sickness, this feeling; this uncertainty, this _fear,_ that’s been spreading in him since they left the Menagerie. Usually it’s akin to a ringing in his ears, fading into the distance often enough for him to be useful. To hear others’ problems and shoulder their burdens as much as he can, to listen to the Mother’s directions, to use his better judgement. But lately it’s been flaring up, like a badly-healed break that still hurts when it rains. If he’s not careful with his words, it threatens to spill over, an unwatched pot that’s been boiling by the fire for a few minutes too long. Caduceus _so badly_ doesn’t want anyone else to scald.

But he’s well-versed with bouts like these. He knows how to keep his distance, to avoid passing it on to others. Knows how to shut the door, bolt the latch, raise the thorns around the garden’s edge, and let the strangers outside whisper about _witches._

His thoughts stutter to a halt when soft footsteps are suddenly sounding out at his side, loud as church bells against the quiet of calm waves. Biting his lip, he takes another breath to steady himself, careful not to make it too obvious. Pulls a smile onto his face, squints his eyes just enough to make it convincing.

“Hey, Beau,” he murmurs as soon as she’s within human earshot. She sidles up, movements stilted, and leans over the side of the ship to regard the waves.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Beau says, pushing up on with palms against the railing, leaning over to a degree that would be concerning if she wasn’t _herself_. “They get this in Nicodranas a lot, apparently. It’s called a _bioluminescent bloom_. Jester’s mom told me about it, it was in one of her books.” The soft lights sway beneath the water’s surface as the ship bobs gently, up and down. “She’s pretty smart, actually. Did a lot of Jes’s home-schooling by herself.”

Caduceus isn’t sure how any of this is relevant to what Beau actually came over to say, but the words are pretty, so he lets them fill the silence. “That’s nice,” he replies, when he realises she was waiting for one. 

Why does everything need to have a _name?_ These lights would still be here if nobody had ever seen them, or studied them, or assigned a string of sounds to their appearance. They would stay exactly the same. But _bioluminescent_ has a nice feel in the mouth, he supposes. If you have to have a word for something, might as well pick a good one.

“Yeah, it is,” Beau says slowly, after a moment. There’s a pregnant pause, and he stays quiet, waiting for her to come out with whatever it is she’s taken issue with. Instead of elaborating, she lowers herself back to her feet, turning to lean back against the railing with her elbows against the wood. A picture of faux-relaxation. This is gonna be _bad._

“So, what’s up with you?”

Caduceus… pauses. He turns to look at Beau, who’s blinking up at him owlishly, those silly purple goggles affixed to her head despite the glow of lanterns on deck. He raises an eyebrow at them, and she curses under her breath and pulls them up sharply.

“What do you mean?” he asks, when she’s regained some dignity.

Beau’s mouth twists beneath her frown. He saw a similar expression on her face the last time something stabbed her. “Come on, man. I’m not blind. There’s something wrong, I can tell.”

Caduceus stares into her sharp eyes. She stares back, challenging. “Why d’you say that?” It’s honest curiosity. Whatever rogue behaviour she’s picked up on, he’d like to know so he can nip it in the bud.

Beau’s hard expression is cracking around the edges. “Look, I know that island sucked for you, alright? Unnatural shit all over the place, you kept falling into man-eating puddles, brainwashed cult-y weirdos, fake gods. For what it’s worth, I think you did real well at keeping it together. But…”

She’s grinding her teeth. He watches the muscles of her jaw move, considers pointing out that she’ll give herself a toothache if she keeps that up. He would know. 

“But you don’t _have to,_ you know that? Not right now. If shit’s bothering you, you can tell me. Maybe I won’t get all of it, because I don’t do _gods_ and I know that’s a big part of your whole deal. Hell, if you don’t wanna tell me, tell Fjord. He cares about you, y’know, even though emotions aren’t exactly his strong suit. Or Jester, I’m sure she’ll get it. Any of us, really.” Beau falls silent again, eyes fixed on somewhere up in the ship’s sails. Caduceus is grateful for it, because holding eye contact through all that would’ve been _a lot._

A minute passes. Caduceus counts the seconds, or tries to. He loses count around the same time as a small breeze picks up - warm, encouraging, swaying a couple of loose strands of his hair in Beau’s direction.

_Words like that usually warrant a response,_ he can imagine Her words in his ear, but in his head, they sound more accusing than reassuring.

“Well… everyone handles their own problems differently,” he starts, choosing his words carefully.

Beau’s eyes meet his, bright and— _angry?_ Caduceus doesn’t dare go on any further, but he stares back, hoping the confusion will show through.

“For _fuck’s sake,_ ” Beau mumbles, head tipping back, running a hand over her face. “This is like herding cats. You know, for once, it would be cool if someone actually just said what they _meant.”_

Guilt curdles in Caduceus’ stomach, but it feels misplaced. Beau’s not angry with _him,_ he can tell - she’s not glaring at him, just staring up into the cloudless night sky. She looks just as lost as he feels.

“Are you alright?” he asks, trying for _gentle_ instead of _relieved._ She didn’t _actually_ want to talk about him, Caduceus realises, she’s just couching her own feelings in something else. It takes a weight off his shoulders, and simultaneously ties one around his ankles. The answer to the question might just throw him into the deep, but drowning hurts less than letting someone pull your chest open to inspect your heart.

Beau’s face scrunches up, and she turns away from him. “I… yeah. Yeah, just, I dunno. I guess I’ve gotten too comfortable.” She snorts, and there’s something like a sniffle that follows the sound. “I can just… I can see stuff pulling at us, you know? Different directions. Veth’s got her body back, she can go back to her family. She said it herself, she’s not sure why she hasn’t already. Jester’s… cracking, and I don’t know how to make it stop. That fucking -- _thing,_ under the ocean,” she stamps on the deck with one foot, and the wood groans mournfully in response, “is still gonna be after Fjord, and what am I supposed to do, _punch it?_ I don’t…” She inhales, the sound shaky, tipping her head back again and blinking rapidly up at the sky. “I dunno how to hold onto everyone.”

Caduceus lets the quiet linger for a moment, giving her space enough to pull anything else out and drop it, bloodied and writhing, onto the deck. But nothing else comes. Beau sniffles into the silence again, swallowing wetly, and Caduceus runs through her words over again in his head, trying to conjure some antidote.

“That’s not your job,” he says at last, feeling vaguely hypocritical.

It feels good, to focus on someone else. Healing others’ wounds, he’s found, is so much more satisfying than healing his own, because sometimes they smile back and say _thank you._

Beau doesn’t say _thank you_. Instead, she groans in response, digging the heel of a palm into one eye. “Of fucking _course_ , it’s my job. I’m literally the _first mate_. Look after the crew, set a good example, you know?”

Caduceus is about to go into something about how _a title doesn’t make a job, you can’t spend every waking moment watching after your friends as if they were wayward children,_ but the words stick in his throat. He opens his mouth to try again, but they still don’t move.

“You _asshole,”_ comes Beau’s voice all of a sudden, tone strange, half an incredulous laugh. She snorts, sounding just a little hysterical, and wipes her eyes roughly. “You made me _monologue._ I was _trying_ to talk about _you._ ” Her eyes are on him, now, but there’s no malice in them. Just disbelief, and amusement, and the regret of someone who’s said too much. “How d’you _do_ that?”

“Family secret,” Caduceus replies before he can help himself, and Beau is laughing in earnest now, although it’s quiet, her stomach quaking.

“Oh, man, I don’t doubt it,” she retorts, voice still thick but without the weight of before. He doesn’t have time to unpack the inflection behind those words, before she’s continuing, “Seriously, though, you’re not okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

“No, no, you had something back there. Let’s talk about _that.”_ Caduceus lets a real smile replace the forced one, because, oh, well. This is happening now.

“I _am_ talking about that.” The humour disappears from Beau’s eyes, replaced by an imploring look. “I feel like you’re… not tethered, anymore. Like… like your _duty,_ or _quest,_ or whatever, was your anchor, and now that’s over with, you’re gonna just…” She lifts a hand and moves it in a slow wave, like a ship departing from port. “Drift. And I wouldn’t blame you. Can’t be long before your family and Reani reach the Blooming Grove, right? I bet it’ll be real pretty by the time you get back.”

Something familiar and aching twists in Caduceus’ gut, because it _will be._ It’ll be _beautiful._ If the crystals work their magic - and he has no reason to doubt that they will - the graves will bloom once more, the same way they used to every spring when he was little. Memories surface of wading through thick flowers between headstones, the air sweet and heady with fragrance, and he can’t help but smile at the nostalgia. It’ll be like the withering – _so cold, so dark, thorns clawing at his legs, dry branches creaking in the wind -_ never happened at all.

But something about the image – of himself, alone, trekking back through the winding woodland paths, opening the gates and running into the open arms of his family – feels… _wrong._ They’d go inside, Auntie’s kettle already boiling, the scent of his mother’s cooking hanging in the air, Clarabelle asking endless questions, and he would tell them…

He would tell them… what?

That he misses the smell of the ocean?

“Why would I do that?” Caduceus finds himself asking aloud, voice small and wondering. The sea before him gives no answer apart from the soft crash of waves, but Beau’s eyes are searching on the side of his face.

“I dunno, Caduceus. You tell me.”

Another breeze winds its way through the quiet, coming in from the ocean this time, sweeping hairs back out of his face like a mother’s gentle touch. No words come into his mind, but the dancing blue lights in the ocean below shift and, for a moment, he sees the outline of eyes, blinking slowly up at him.

Listening.

“I… I don’t _want_ to leave,” he breathes, the word _want_ feeling like it was dragged from his chest. For a moment, nausea roils in his stomach like a turning storm, but the ship’s gentle swaying is soothing, and the breeze is cool on his face. “But… I’m not sure there’s a reason to stay. I mean,” he amends quickly, seeing Beau’s face flicker with hurt, “… a reason that’s not.” _Short-sighted. Stubborn. Selfish._ “Personal.”

Beau gives a little laugh. It sounds terribly sad. “You know, for someone who’s so good at detangling the shit that comes outta other people’s mouths, you’re really _bad_ at doing it for yourself.” 

Caduceus opens his mouth to protest, but once again, nothing’s forthcoming. _Tangled_ is a good word, because that’s what it feels like - a skein of silk thread that he’s trying to pull out of his throat, except it’s lodged and no amount of pulling is shifting it. He shuts his mouth, and just nods. The bioluminescence blinks back at him, not saying a word.

“You don’t wanna go home, because you know that the person your family sees when they look at you isn’t really _you.”_ Beau’s words sound distant, as if they’re coming from a long way away, but at the same time they seem to resonate back through his own chest. “The only people who _see you_ are right here, and you don’t wanna go back to being invisible.” 

The chuckle he gives isn’t even a little convincing. “That’s your story.”

“Yeah, it’s called _empathy_. I’m trying it out, learned from the best.” Beau’s grinning, eyes bright on the side of his face. “Am I on the money? Gotta give me a sign, here.”

All of a sudden, there’s a hot pressure behind his eyes, and oh, _wow,_ he hasn’t felt this in a while. Something wet and scalding is tracking down the side of his face, and Caduceus tries to remind himself that Beau’s vision isn’t great in the dark. It doesn’t make him feel better.

“How d’you do it?” he manages, unable to keep the quaver from his voice, and the sound of it — the _confirmation_ — pulls a sob from his chest, and suddenly he can taste salt, can see little raindrops landing on his sleeve. He wipes them away with a thumb. It’ll stain otherwise. He would know.

To her credit, Beau barely reacts. Her muscles tense for a second, as if to reach out - but she doesn’t, just fidgets her hands on the railing. Caduceus listens to the scrape of her short nails against the woodgrain. He’s glad she didn’t go with her first instinct, otherwise he might really have dissolved.

“Do what, Cad?” Beau asks, tone gentle in the way she sometimes uses for Jester when she’s sad. 

The _guilt_ of it is clawing at his stomach again, but he’s in too deep now.

Time to swim.

“Navigate?” he says, as much question as answer, taking a breath that tries to be steadying but turns into a ragged gasp partway through. “It feels so… so _nebulous,_ ” and isn’t that a nice word? It feels nice. “There used to be a path, I think, but it disappeared. Now it’s just woods. Or maybe an ocean.”

Beau exhales, long and tired. “We kind of… don’t. I mean… I don’t have a compass. Fuck, nobody does,” she laughs, making a hand gesture that he can’t see because everything’s blurry, “nobody knows where they’re going. So, welcome to the club, I guess.”

“I don’t think I wanna be in it,” Caduceus says, aiming for a chuckle and landing on a sob. _Goddess, that’s a childish thing to say. You can’t act like this anymore, you’re an_ adult. _Pull your weight._ The words resound in his head, but Caduceus can’t bring himself to focus on them.

He thinks he’s tired of pulling, maybe. 

He just wants someone to tell him that there’s a _goal,_ that there’s a _point_ to all of this, to the fighting and the dying and the waking and the _breathing._ Expectations are heavy, but they’re a load he’s used to bearing. Without them, it feels like he’s going to float away, just keep falling upwards into the endless sky with nothing to grab hold of.

“D’you like the person you are right now?” Beau asks, the frankness cutting through his thoughts as a knife through brambles. “D’you like being here, with us?”

The first question is hard, because Caduceus doesn’t think he’s _changed,_ not really. He’s the same cleric who left the Grove a year or so ago. It’s just that the world has changed around him. Or, maybe, he’s finally seeing things which used to stay in the shadows. So, he leaves that question alone for now.

“I like being around all of you,” Caduceus answers, and that’s the _truth,_ he knows that. Love is a familiar feeling, and a comforting one. He’s killed for these people. Hell, only a week or two ago, he was pulling Fjord’s very _soul_ back into his body. 

Love is grounding. Love feels like an anchor.

At the edge of his vision, Beau is nodding. Through the fog of tears, he can see her searching look, having edged up closer to him. “Well, there you go.” She shrugs. “That’s what I _navigate_ off of, so, y’know. It’s the best advice as I can give, I guess.”

It feels too simple, somehow, but Caduceus supposes that sometimes things are like that. Sometimes it’s as straightforward as reaching out to a goddess to ask for healing, or reaching out to a soul to ask him to come back. Or reaching out to a friend, and letting her patch the wounds he couldn’t see.

“Thank you.” The words are soft, but _meant,_ and he hopes she understands the depth behind them. Thankfully, Beau rarely takes things at their face value.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, man,” she says, the gruff edge to her words a poor mask for the look of pained understanding on her face. She raises a loose fist, but it dissolves into an open palm as it lands on his arm. Her face flickers with indecision, and it pulls a small chuckle from Caduceus’ chest as she pats his arm awkwardly.

“Come here,” Caduceus smiles, leaning down to wrap his arms around her shoulders. Beau is stiff as a board for a second, hand still hovering near his elbow - then, she folds, like he knew she would, arms squeezing tight around his middle and burying her face in his shoulder. Her shoulders are shaking, so he rubs circles into her back through her coat, and eventually the shaking stops.

“Fuck, you’re tall,” she laughs, unsteadily, voice muffled in the fabric of his coat.

“Maybe you’re just short, ever think about that?” He pats the top of her head, and Beau pulls back with a grunt of faux-irritation, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“Yeah, whatever. Smartass.” There’s a smile that tries to hide beneath the roll of her eyes, and he’d always thought Beau was more like Calliope, but the expression abruptly reminds him of Clarabelle, and the familiarity is as painful as it is sweet.

Maybe she’s neither, he realises. Maybe she’s someone new, someone he loves just as much, in the same way, even though he’s only known her for the blink of an eye. Maybe new loves are just as good as the old ones. Maybe they can coexist, growing up from the same soil.

“You want some tea?” Caduceus asks, as the thought pulls him back to the concept. Growing new things from old. Bringing closure, paying respects, making happiness blossom again.

Beau tilts her head in consideration. “D’you have that really good cinnamon-peppermint one you gave me and Fjord after our workout that one morning?” she asks, eyebrows raised hopefully. 

“Yeah, I know the one. Think there’s still some left.” 

They go below deck. He makes the tea. They drink in companionable silence, listening to the waves breaking against the hull.

Maybe it’s enough, to listen, to know when there’s space where there shouldn’t be. Maybe it’s enough to untangle someone else’s thoughts for them, because at the same time, you’re untangling your own. Unspooling the contents, weaving a tapestry from them both together. Even if you find no answers written there, it’s nice to have something tangible, something that you can interpret.

Something to navigate by.

Through the porthole window, the little motes of bright algae glow against the dark, stars suspended in the sea, arranging into the shape of a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr! @cierics


End file.
